Chapter Ninety Eight
It was a regular Friday afternoon, when Steven Moffat was sitting alone in his office. He had just finished writing the first draft of Season Four, Episode One, of Sherlock. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. Yes, the script was very good. If he kept writing at this pace, then he could get the episodes released in early 2016. That is, if Benedict and Martin weren't busy during the summer.
Very faintly, he heard his ringtone go off.
As it got louder and louder, he pulled out his phone.
How odd, he mused. No one is calling me.
The Tardis noise was getting louder and louder. He wondered what it was, if it wasn't his phone.
In the middle of his office, facing his desk, a brilliant, bright blue Police Box was shimmering into view.
Finally, the noise stopped, and it rested into place.
He started laughing. He walked around to the door of his office, stuck his head out, and shouted, "Very funny, Mark. I must admit, this is one of your better pranks. I have no idea how you did it."
"What are you talking about?" Mark Gatiss said, stepping out of his office.
"The Tardis!" Moffat said, pointing at the box behind him. "It's amazing. Did you use one of the props, or did you have someone make it for you?"
He walked back around to his desk, shuffling through his drawers.
"What?" Gatiss followed him behind the desk.
Moffat picked up a camera and snapped a picture of the Tardis. "And how did you make it appear like that?"
"I didn't do this," Gatiss said slowly.
The stopped and looked at each other, before slowly facing the Tardis again.
Moffat lowered the camera.
"No," Moffat said. "No – No. How am I even considering it?"
"You read my mind," Gatiss said, coming around the desk to face the Tardis.
Moffat followed. "No. This. This has to be a prank. By Matt. Someone. It can't be-"
The door started to open.
"Real."
...
"Listen," I said quietly, facing the Doctor.
Facing this man that, even I, didn't know.
"You need to understand this," I took a deep breath before beginning. "The people we are going to go meet, are the writers of a very popular television show, called Doctor Who?. It's about a Time Lord from Gallifrey, who stole a Tardis and ran away. How saved his planet, but thought he destroyed it. A man with two hearts, that finds brilliant people – ordinary people – who runs away with him to see the universe."
"What?" He asked.
"You're entire life story is spread out among fifty years for the world to see," I said. "That's how I know everything. About you, about everyone you've ever met."
He was quiet.
"Are you ready?" I asked, reaching out my hand.
He looked at it in quietly. "Does this mean that I'm just another fictional character who ended up in the wrong world?"
"We'll see, won't we," I said quietly.
And we stepped out of the Tardis.
...
Sweet dreams.
Goodnight.